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Berney's 



POEMS 



AND 



Brief Sayings, 



WITH 



CHOICE SELECTIONS 



FROM 



Eminent Autliors. 



I 



POEMS 



AND 



Brief Sa3^ings 



BY 




; Jc9^Sz^ 



JAMES BERNEY, Jr. 



BEAR & LEASURE, Publishers, 
Bbadfoed, Pa., 1894. 



N 



PREFACE. 

rilE AUTHOR of this little collection of poems and 
'^ brevities regrets that it is not more extensive, 
but there are two sutficient reasons for restricting 
my l)ook in size. The first is that the cost of iniblishing 
a book is vei\y much greater than one would tliink, un- 
less he had some little experience in such matters, and 
sirKie my publishers, Messrs. Bear & Leasure, were so 
kind and liberal as to und.^rtake its publication at their 
own risk. I thought best not to make the risk too great 
by the publication of a larger book, but let this little 
book suffice for an introduction to the public. 

The other reason is that very much of my writing 
or work is very radical in its nature, and not calculated 
to please all, and so might offend some who have 
shown me kindness in my present affliction. I am 
only too glad to confess my deepest gratitude for the 
kindness wdiich has been shown me by all classes of men 
and women. 

I rejoice in the dawn of a better day wherein we all 
recognize, not the Devilliood of God, but that higher and 
better concept, the Fatherhood of God, and the mother- 
hood and sisterhood of woman. 

JAMES BERNEY, Jr. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 18",U, by 

JAMES BERNEY, JR., in the office of the Librarian of 

Congress at Washington. 



IN PERPLEXITY. 



9^^^WAS on a very mild November eve, 

'mU Chill winter lent a short but kind reprieve, 
I wandered lone among the Tuna hills, 
And sadly mused on life, its good and ills. 
Among those hills that lately bloomed so fine, 
I tniced a life that much resembled mine. 
For back to Spring 'twas but a little span 
When in their midst, new life and joy began. 
The tender buds were putting gently forth, 
And jo}^ prevailed o'er such a won"drous birth. 
Here courting pheasants drum'd the live long day. 
The cheery I'obin sang his roundelay: 
The blackbird carrolled by yon wnnding stream 
His sweetest song of love's delightful dream. 
Those distant sloping hills were green and fair. 
Sweet odors wantoned on the very air. 
Yon orchard bloomed all pink and white. 
Like vernal morning bathed in rosy light. 
The milk white box-tree bloomed upon the hill, 
At eve the song, "Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will! ^ 
Came floating softly on the balmy air, 
Lulling all to sleep: sleep that respites care. 
But now, aias, those dreamy days are o'er, 
The notes of warbling birds are heard no more, 
All bloom has vanished, vanished in a day, 
The fairest tints have turned to sombre graj . 
And now a sullen gloom o'er shadows all 
E're nature kindly spreads her snowj^ pall, 
While o'er the tomb she sheds a silent tear 
A parting tribute to a dying year. 
But from those scenes of ruin and decay 
My heart now turned quite sick and sad away; 
Though soon a cheering light came stealing o'er me. 
And other scenes like visions rose before me. 
Thus sunshine, ever follows after storm. 
Death's not the end, 'tis but a change of form. 
As winter just foreruns the gentle spring, 
So sorrow's mission's future joy to bring. 
So too w ith me, my life begun in joy. 
'Twas life and hope, a hope without alloy, 
But now I tread life's dreary maze alone. 



No font of land, no c-ot to call my own. 

Nor dare I ev(>n hope for future bliss 

If Nature hath no moral couched in this 

Refreshing thought, reviving, cheering, good. 

If coming spring revive the tiny bud. 

Say why, oh ! man, say why so slow to learn 't 

Why not revive the ashes of the urn"? 

If not, then life is but a hideous death, 

A blot, a crime to him who gave me breatli. 

Does this poor transient life fulfill the whole? 

Is there no realm to satisfy the soul? 

Those prisoners in a crumbling liouse of clay 

Our thoughts, released, would gladly soar away. 

And in that great unbounded space abroad, 

Survey the wondrous works and waj's of God . 

How sad our case when to our troubled breasts 

Hope comes no more most welcome of all guests. 

Hath Nature bade us hopeless yearn and sigh. 

Or made a want she would not gratify? 

Why grope we here, "twixt doubt and hope so long; 

Why choose we right, yet do the grossest wrong? 

Why wage we here tliis vain unequal strife. 

If not to rise to higher forms of lil'e? 

Are there not lives, like banners, half unfurled. 

Barks foundered ''freight half given to the world," 

Or like a courier lying dumb and cold. 

Some message to an anxious race half told. 

Fond friendships like the forest tempesi torn. 

And riven hearts oft left to bleed and mourn. 

Hard lessons, yet, without resultant good, 

Ambitions stifled at their very flood. 

Oppression sore, and grievous to be borne. 

The pomp of wealth, its pride and cruel Scorn! 

Our humblust claims in life are set aside, 

And oil! our sacred trusts how oft betrayed! 

Our brightest hours are ever wing'd the fleetest. 

And all that's sweet is lost, lost when sweetest. 

And we have joj's no words have yet revealed, 

And woes so deep tliat e'en our li^js are sealed. 

Our joys come like the bubbles on a stream, 

A moment full, then vanish as a dream. 

And there are souls that walk beneath the moon 

Whose lives from early morn till highest noon 

Are but strange missions here of unmixed sorrow, 

Who date their hopes away, some bright to-morrow. 

Oh. human bliss, how brief thy longest stay. 

Scarce here ere swiftly winged upon thy way 

Illusive as a mirage in the sky. 

That of*^^ hath cliarmed tlie wondering gazer's eye. 



Art thou a glimpse, a sweet foretaste of Heaven, 

A kind decoy to struggling mortals given? 

Oh! tell me what I am, or whence came I. 

Or why I live thus doomed to fail and die, 

To perish like a burning taper's flame, 

My words, m\' thoughts, my nature and my name. 

Do those whose absence makes us bitter weep, 

Survive, or sleep, their one eternal sleepV 

Beyond this I'ealm of death is there a clime 

Wliere we can balance all the wrongs of time? 

Where mothers, wailing o'er the empty chnir. 

Ma}' find their long lost infant treasure there? 

Or shall we ever look again on faces 

Gone, gone and left us only vacant places. 

'Twas by no choice of mine that I exist. 

Drawn by a fate no power can resist. 

I'm swiftly tending to that dark beyond, 

That "Silent Land" whose tenants ne'er respond. 

Does Mind result from organs finely wrought, 

Or must its hidden soui'ce be elsewhere sought? 

I have my life in common with the beast, 

A better brain, instinct somewhat decreased, 

I boast somewliat of reason iji its stead, 

(But whether of the twain's mo^c wisely led?) 

Through life I breathe vvith hlui. one c iinuion breath. 

And in the e'ld I die vvith biin one common death. 

B.)th tou'-'he.l Itv sorrow, I. deep staine 1 by sin. 

Does death end all for him? real life begin 

Witli me? Is .Mind the essence pure of all we see. 

The earne-it, promise, pledge. Thou Still Shall BE? 

Doth life through endless forms itself renew. 

Evolving noblest thoughts to-day in one, 

Ne.Kt in the fleecy cloud or pearlv dew? 

Perchance a pebble, glistening 'neath the sun. 

The lark that wakes the morn his song to sing. 

The rill that trickles down the mountain side. 

Yea, more, the creeping worm, the humblest thing. 

The modest wayside flower, the ocean wide. 

Is r.i a sense mv sister or my brother; 

Til J futur,'. all my hope, the pa^t. mv mother. 

I long for life, away bevond the tomb. 

Where thoughts immortal and eternal bloom: 

Nor dims the light of th:it eternal noon. 

Where harps and lyres. ti'inm;)liant songs attune: 

Nor doomed to silence while I'm there, 

I'll view the picture thar, I paint while here. 

I'll want to know how fares my feiiow man; 

If perfect life's the goal in nature's ;)lan: 

To visit scenes familiar on this st ige; 



And wistful watch each fruitful passing age. 

And then no matter how or where I am, 

I'll want to hear good news from Uncle Sam, 

The next Centennial year a noble score, 

His charge five hundred millions may be more. 

And next I'm sure 'twould please me much to find, 

This North and South all one in heart and mind. 

A ballot full and free, an honest count. 

And best of all, no '"bloody shirt"' to flaunt. 

La Belle France still holding on her way. 

Beneath her young Republic's gently sway, 

Her sons abandoned all their faction hate, 

And 23ushing on the grand old car of state. 

Abandored too. that wild Utopian dream. 

And onward pushing like a good old team, 

In science let great Prussia lead the way, 

And Russia too in triumph see her day. 

The land of Wallace, Bruce of Bannockburn, 

For freedom's cause must take her turn. 

Let Erin's question like a cauldron boil, 

John Bull go down and Patrick hold the soil. 

Let woman take a nobler, better stand. 

And with the potent ballot in her hand, 

Just wage her well, a good and valliant fight. 

Opposing wrong, defending every right, 

No more the thoughtless devotee of fashion, 

No more the slave to mankind's baser passion; 

Deceit in man scarce known up n the earth, 

And woman brought to px'ize good honest worth. 

I'll want to know a thousand other things. 

To know about the planets, moons and rings. 

And other rings not quite so good or great. 

That clog the wheels of justice and of state. 

To find sweet Freedom's banner wide unfurled. 

•'On earth, good will to men." Throughout the world. 

To find full more of life and less of sorrow, 

To find a Golden age, the world's To-morrow. 



THE PILOT SHIP. 



[Suggested by a picture in Harper's Weekly.] 

fsee a bark ! 'tis night upon the sea. 
And the scen'e suggests a pleasing thought to me. 
O'er those gunwales dash the soaring billow.s. 
Upon the deck there stand two stalwart fellows ; 
Aloft in hand each holds a torch alight. 
Each is peering through a glass into the night. 
Now these are pilots come to pilot o'er 



8 



Some strug;gling vessel to the ever-nearing shore. 
They have left a city where the mansions bright 
And the streets are all aglow with life and light. 
We have asked a question — asked it long ago — 
And the answer liow we long and strive to know ! 
When the tyrant Death in cliains hath l)ound lis. 
And our friends are weeping anxious round us : 
When the last fond signal's fondly given, 
And the golden bowl's in &under riven. 
When all of life for us is done and o'er, 
Will the-pilots come to meet us — meet us from the mys- 
tic shore ? 



I'LL NO REGRET MY NANNIE, O. 

THE ITHER SIDE 'O IT. 

fTOOK a paper up and there I read, 
In plainest black and white, my Nannie wed : 
Sic news did gar my head all dizzy. O, 
And rushing thoughts did keep me busy, O. 

And then I tliought, I'm no much worse, if any, O, 
Then most guid men who lose Nannie, O : 
The cause of loss I cannot gather. O. 
1*11 only dust around and find anither, O. 

There's sure anither just as kind and canny, O, 
For this world was never sbort a Nannie. O ; 
If she was false I'm better clear o' her, 
A fickle wife, I've aye had fear o' her. 

There's sure some guid amang the many, O, 
Why stop to greet the loss of Nannie, O : 
This life is just one battle fierce and Strang, 
How noble he who rather bears than wrang. 

'Tis all in bearing that true manhood's shown, 

For oft our hearts are left to bleed alone. 

To face our foes, nor yield to any, O, 

'Tis oft a good man's luck to lose his Nannie. O. 

Chorus. 

Then never while your living currents flow 
Should you vRgret a faitliless Nannie. O ; 
I vow I II not regret a Nannie. O. 
I swear I'll not regret a Nannie. O. 



9 
ELEGIAC POEM. 



TW'OW henceforth, sacred to tlie dead, 
M^ Tr) those who bitter vveep and mourn, 
(Jr those who weary hither tread. 
To rest liere in appointed turn 

Alike, the breath of fiow'ry May, 
To them. aUke the winter's gloom. 

Alike, the dull cold autuum day. 
No change disturbs the silent tomb. 

Here rank and cast are laid aside. 
The cotter's like the millionaire : 

The motives of our lives are tried. 
Nor bribes, tiie least, avail us here. 

Here, slumbering in his lowly bed. 
While seasons endless come and go. 

Shall rest the aged Pilgrim's bend. 

Through summer's he.it and winter's sncnv. 

He, in this land of shadows dim, 
Of sightless eyes and organs dumb. 

His sons unknown, unthought by him. 
To rank and short-lived honors come. 

And here shall sleep the babe, new born. 
The stalwart man, in prime of life. 

The loved one from the lover torn. 
The husband and the fait ful wife. 

The ])rattling child, the household's pride. 
Its light and joy, its fairest flower. 

To this dark Ijourne must turn aside. 
Low laid in death's untimely hour. 

And yovilh enwrapped in Hope's fond dream, 
(The nec^tar in the blighted flower. 

A liubble burst U[)on the stream), 
Low laid by death's relentless powei'. 

And bera shall come the lovely bride, 
Upon her lips, half-uttered vows ; 

To rest forever by her si<le. 

Here, too. perchance, shall come her spouse. 

Here come the stricken ones to mourn, 
And o'er the tomb lone vigils keep : 



10 



The moss-grown slab, the sculptured urn, 
The mournful willow here shall weep. 

The murmuring brook beneath the hill. 
The wild bird warbling oVr their bed ; 

Sequested here, the whippoorwill 

Shall ciiant sad requiems for the dead. 



A SATIRE ON WOMAN. 



M. I guess I've guessed the who ! 
• You say I'm false, you ever true, 
But claims like that are naething new, 

A female saint ! 
Just ask the Deil. He's truthful, too ; 
Without a taint. 

You call men monsters ; I say well ; 
If words and actions ought can tell. 
You like the monsters monstrous well. 

Your like the rest — 
All liigh pretence, and but a sell ; 

A flirt at best. 

'• Take up thy gauntlet. I'll not tr}\" 
You're right. For in the joust you'd die; 
But if you should, your sword take I. 

For in the tilt 
Your thrusts at me gae harmless by. 

Mine crowd the hilt. 

■* Deceitful man." ye hae your share then, 
And faith, a g.iy guid when, to spare then 
You play it unco weel. that's mare then. 

I tell nae news 
Of that ye ken the warl's aware then, 

Gie Diel's their dues. 

When mankind treats j^ou squarely O. 
Do y>)U reward him fairly OV 
Oh, do you jilt him sairl}'. O. 

And ca' him daft — 
And then repent it early O ":' 

I've kenned it aft. 

.Show me the man o" worth and grace 
That finds a lass "-o suit his case. 



11 



Or finds tliat treasure "inniii; your race. 

That treasure fair 
The ■' wise uiaii "' ran s in iiijihest place — 

A ruby rare. 

Wliat lionied words slie'll tell him ; 

Wi' witching ways, she'll buy and sell him 

And then, awa' ivi" some poor skellum ! 

xi victim she. 
A fickless buke, in o-dd aiid vellum. 

Poor victim he! 

While she pursues, 'tis well with him, 
Bixt just reversed, his hopes grow dim . 
Her head takes uj) another whim. 

Be was too cheap: 
When he desponds, her joys at brim : 

She sows, she'll reap. 

Suppose two suitors, you at stake. 
True man tlie one, and one a rake, 
Now tell me honest, which you'd take, 

'Side issues equal. 
Upon the last I'd millions stake 

And bide the sequel. 

You choose mere brass, reject pure gold, 
A lie is truth when smoothly told. 
Nor dream how cheap yourself is told. 

Till cast awav ; 
Then comes that tale so often told, 

"You've had your day." 

Ye tamp^•r wi' a guikled bait. 

'Ti 1 ])rudence speaks, but speaks too late ; 

The die you've cast, or dared a fate 

Not oft averted 
All men are olijects of your hate ! 

Your love's inverted. 

I've often kenned ye get to:.'etlur. 
And for twa guide lang hours blather 
Aliout some wim wi' ane anither 

Wi' unco zest 
That in a scale might tip a feather, 

Just th'i at best. 

Ye'll clack and cackle o'er a bonnet, 
As though the vvorl' depended on it. 



12 



Sole care to buy a rlre.-s and don' it. 

Nor heed the bill, 
Much less tlie toil and care that won it. 

Through good and ill. 

Here on life's stage a part is true, 

We '• speak our piece." or play it through. 

.Mankind cajole and " taffy " vou : 

Tis truth I tell. 
I show the good and evil, too ; 

It's just as well. 

Thrice happy for our hapless race. 
If e'er it reach that happy case. 
When sex on sex dependence place ; 

O, rich reward. 
When sex to sex less oft proves base 

Bv deed or word. 

While mortals here we're tossed and driven 
Our hearts l)owed down and sorrow riven. 
If e'er there conies a breath from Heaven 

That thrills the soul, 
'Tis when that magic 1ouch is given, 

When love makes whole. 

Once in the fields of Eden fair, 
Unknown a tear ; untouched by care, 
Ere woman, thou, or sin cam'st there, 

Wi'thy thravvn brood, 
Whose deep laid plots, and schemes luifair 

Supplanted good. 

I reigned proud laird, o' bird and brute, 
'Till " clooty " showed the cloven cloot. 
Then I and thou got " fired out;" 
Thou ken'st fu' well 
When sin came there, thou wast the root 
'Twas planned in Hell. 

Thy lug to flattery, aye awake. 

Thou gossip'dst with a squirming snake, 

Anddil'st although forbidden, take 

That cursed bait 
Then came and blathered like a L'lake. 

And sealed my fate. 

When awfu' wars lay waste the earth, 
And famine comes, and dreadful dearth. 



13 



Man sore laments that thou had'st birth 

Thou root of evil, 
Too great the cost for a' thou'st worth. 
Thou angel d — 1. 

But man, what woes the fates allot him, 

The thief that robs, the snai-e that caught liim, 

The suicide, t'^e '' thug." that shot him. 

All sums up tliis : 
" A woman somewhere at the bottom." 

Here ends his bliss. 

Yet man, why at thy lot repine. 
Why thus lament this fate of thine ; 
This solace take, this solace mine 

It comforts me, 
The bruised grape alone yields wine. 

So comfort thee. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Now one of two maun always squeal, 

So I propose gin ye think weel, 

To lend my lance o' burnished steel, 

I"ve ane to spare 
It gives a prod that ane can feel, 

T'were only fair 

[ A. satire on man was written in reply to this satire on 
woman, but it was a mere literary jvimble, consequently 
could not be published. 

There are two sides to every question. Man and 
woman are perhaps equally to blame for the difficulties 
that exist between them, and there is no hope of a better 
state of affairs until the race has risen to a higher plane 
of moral integrity.] 



SOME THINGS SAD TO SEE. 



MAIDEN blighted in her love ; 

Strong manhood stricken in its prime : 

A hawk pounce down upon a dove ; 
A child born 'ere its proper time ; 
A sweet flower blighted in a day ; 

A bright life end midst clouds and gloom 
A i-omping child forbid to play ; 
Infirm old age without a home. 



14 
THE BONNIE BELLES O' BRADFORD. 



^^^HEY look so sweet, 'tis complete for one to meet. 

JlU No matter where those treasures rare, those angels 
fair. 

By Heaven sent, so kindly lent, for man's content. 
Those lasses in their teens, 
Those bonnie belles o' Bradford. 
Our lasses i' their teens. 

Caressing glances, shy advances, all enhances. 
Sweet depend, let man attend and safe defend, 
By honest thrift or vengeance swift, this precious gift. 

Our lasses i' their teens, 

The bonnie belles o' Bradford, 

Those lasses i" their teens. 

Let all the city heed my ditty, love and pity, 

Love and charm, with feehng warm protect from harm, 

E'er before them, watching o'er them, still adore them, 

Those lasses in their teens. 

The bonnie belles o' Bradford, 

Our lasses i' their teens. 

But let him glower, who "buses power in passion's hour ; 
O'er prison bar, who ever dare their bliss to mar. 
Or would decoy, and then destroy that sacred joy, 
A lassie in her teens. 
The bonnie belles o' Bradford, 
Sweet lasses i' their teens. 

For well we know ('twas ever so,) that all we owe — 
Joys of leisure, fonts of pleasure — is to that treasure, 
All so smiling, with them whiling, time beguiling. 
Our lasses i' their teens. 
The bonnie Belles o' Bradford, 
Dear lasses i' their teens. 



THE HILLS OF BRADFORD. 



" love the bonnie hills of Bradford, 
Beneath those bonnie hills the winding Tuna flows ; 
Around those hills weird shadows fall, and sunlight 

glows 
Upon those bonnie hills of Bradford. 



If) 



I love the verdant hills of Hradford. 

When o'er those verdant liills the tender leaves and 

flowers 
Bursting from their tombs, and the glory of the vernal 
hours 
Decks all the verdant hills of Bradford. 

I love the blooming hills of Bradford. 

When o'er those blooming hills the breath of summer 

comes, 
When in the woody dells the milk-w hite box-tree 
blooms, 
Among the blooming hills of Bradford. 

I love the purple hills of Bradford 

When o'er those purple hills the purple blends with red. 
And when the purple leaf t)r faded flower has fled 

And left the purple hills of Bradford. 

I love the snowy hills of Bradford 

When all those snowj- hills have shed their summer 
dress so gay, 

And naught is left but leafless trees in sombre grav. 
Upon the snowy hills of Bradford. 



THE PEBBLE IN THE OCEAN. 



JP stood by the ocean at eve, when the waves were at 
is rest ; 

The stars were reflected like studs from its transparent 
breast. 

A pebble let fall from my hand set a ripple in motion ; 

The ripple set acres of waters in gentle commotion. 

A heavy gun'd vessel lav anchor'd some distance away, 

And it heaved, I know, like the tiniest bark in that bay. 

I said that the mind of our race just resembles the 
ocean — 

The tiniest pebble of thought sets a ripple in motion, 

The pepples will drop and the ocean unceasingly move, 

For "tis by the motion of mind that our race must im- 
prove. 

Then why should we grieve for those dogmas now pass- 
ing away V 

For dogmas like men, must decay when they've lived 
out their day. 



16 
WHO SENT THEE TO BLOOM ? " 



^AY, merry robin, who sent thee to sing 
J) So sweetly thy soul-stirring lay r 
Some loved one, no doubt, is near by ; 
Then sing, robin, sing, while you may. 

When weary of fashion's cold ways, 
When weary of frescoes and paint. 

Sham friendships, and all of that sort. 
Conventional folk, and restraint. 

Away to the wild woods I fly ; 

Kind nature ne'er spurned me away ; 
The song of the robin, so sweet, 

And the posies beguile me to stay. 

Say, pretty fiovver. who sent thee to bloom, 
Away on this hillside so drear? 

I find thee neglected, alone ; 
What solace can comfort thee here ? 

Thou seemest not sad in thy life, 

Could mankind afford thee no room, 

Receiving thy perfume and smiles ? 
To fulfill some mission thou'st come. 

We each have some mission to fill ; 

No darkness, where love lights the way ; 
We each may be doing some good. 

In life that is fleeting away. 



HOPE. 



JHEN Hope, that lamp so bright, illumes the droop- 
_^0 ing mind. 

How soon we fling dull care and sorrow all behind. 
How all things change beneath her ever cheering beam ; 
All things alike, the sadest like the brightest seem. 
We brave the rudest blast that treats us illy ; 
Our darkness turns to day, 
Our winters flee away 
And spring returns with verdant leaf and snow-white 
lily. 



1' 



But once let Hope witlihold from us her cheering beam, 
All things alike, the brightest like the saddest seem 
Alike to us, the wailing pine, the weeping willow, 
The trilling lark, the skipping lamb, the skimming 

swalIow\ 
We bend beneath the slightest blast that treat us illy ; 

Our sunlight's fled and gone. 

Our buds and blossoms flow^n 
No spring for us, with verdant leaf and snow-white lily. 

Then give us hope, that lamp so bright, to cheer the 

mind, 
We'll fling our cares and sorrows all behind. 
All things are good, the saddest like the brighest seem 
When Hope inspires us with her cheering beam, 
We'll brave the wintry blasts that treats us illy 
'Till darkness turns to day, 
'Till winter's fled away 
And spiing returns with verdant leaf and snow-white 

lily. 



NEWSBOY'S CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S 
GREETING. 



^W'OW kind friends I would gladly greet you all, 
%^^ In my Christmas round, and my New Year'i 

call. 
But I need not tell, for you knew it before, 
How I've toiled to bring all the news to your door. 

At the early dawn, 'neath a starry sky. 
When the wind blew cold, and the drifts swept by. 
Though I often "made," I was sometimes " stuck," 
But I pushed right on, never "blamed my luck." 

May we often meet, as we oft have met ; 
As the years glide past — a hope for us yet ; 
In the bright New Year, so soon to come, 
May no shadow fall on your happy home. 

I will hang up my sock near my bedroom door 
And the reindeer man, from his wond'rous store. 
Will remember me and be kind to you ; 
Through the year I remain your newsboy true. 



18 
NEWSBOYS' GREETING. 



fK^WELVE months ago since this old year began, 
3 And I start in the battle of life anew, 
Fo]- I ft-el, what I hoi^e. to be true, 
That I'm one year more, the more of a man. 

Now I've brought you the news from countries afar, 
And I've brought you the news from comitries near. 
Of the "boom" in oil, and the market's scare. 

And of earthquakes great, and the clouds of war. 

Then of cruel wars 'mong the " bulls "' and the "bears," 
Of the trusting lamb, who ventured in "ille." 
How he dropped his head, when he dropped his "pile,'' 

Weary ones shuffling this life and its cares. 

Towns laid waste by the scourge of fire and wind. 
Then how some bummer was pulled bj^ the cop^, 
Next of weddings so bright, and high-toned hops 

Of that bomber abroad, the " Dynamite Fiend." 

But, let me tell you what's better than all. 
'Tis not so much after all. the New Year, 
But the long looked-for Christmas is here 

And I think Kris Kringle will give me a call. 

So I'll give you my wish. Merry Christmas cheer, 
To my friends every one, to my patrons all. 
Who buy on the street or the homes where I calf. 

May your lives grow briglit, through the whole New Year. 



SMILING THROUGH OUR TEARS. 



iff^pAILY tripping like a litfle sprite, 
A^^Airy motions, graceful form, face so bright^ 
Thus I met a little maiden fair. 
Light of heart and free from every care. 

How my heart went out to wish her well. 
When, poor thing, she, flipping lightly by, fell. 
Looked tiien at me, smiling through her tears. 
More than lovely in her tender years. 

Smooth I stroked and pressed her little head., 

Laugliing now, light away she fled. 

And I stood tliere musing so intent. 

For no words could give my feelings vent. 



10 



W^xir We yearn for childhood's laughing yeai's 
JFor its smiles to mingle with our tears. 
Smiles and joys, alas I long fled away, 
Smiles have fled and tears now long delay. 

Buoyant youth, now slow to think or learn ! 
Oft between the cradle and the urn 
Pass we sadly thi-ough the fleeting years, 
fe[appy if found smiling through our tears. 



THE BELLES OF BRADFORD. 



[In reply to the "Belles of Bradford," by B. J. B.] 

^^ WOtTLD not pass the belles of Bradford 
,i^ Should smiling beauty be my game — oh, no ! 
And if from home love-making I shall ever go, 
^he most ravishing eyes 
I know under the skies 
Will tempt me to set out for Bradford. 

1 would not slight the Belles of Bradford 

^or those vile rubber boots which, in their care 

J'or their excellent health, I see them wear. 

And the}' can't be beat, 

In tbe matter of feet, 

In old Oildom, the belles <of Bradford. 

Let others chide the belles of Bradford 
For their ho.ydenish skir'ts and all of that ; 
To me they look ang c n that Derby hat, 
Which I hated the m o 
1 had seen it, before ^ 

I saw the jaunty thing in Bradford. 

Warm are their hearts, the belles of Bradford, 

And firm the limbs with which, early and late 

These muddy thoroughfares called streets they 'navigate.' 

And for them 'tis but fun 

The streetcars to outrun. 

For ^'walkists" are the belles of Bradford. 

A wide berth give the belles of Bradford, 

A bashful young man if you are, and can't 

Find in your native town the blushing prude you wanti 

But if vou want a wife 

That will last you for life, 

You'll find that precious " rib '" in Bradford. 

—A. n. Fealc. 



M 



20 

FAREWELL TO THE TUNA. 



I'AREWELL to the beautiful Tuna 
8* For now I must go. 

No more shall I stroll on those hillsides 

In sadness alone. 

Or list to the streamlets that murmur 

So sweetly below. 

Farewell to those hillsides, now burnished 

With purple and gold. 

Farewell to those scenes that I've cherished 

So fondly and long ; 

Those scenes that have yielded me pastimes 

And pleasures untold. 

How often they've turned all my sadness 

To pleasure and song. 

Farewell to those scenes my solace 

And comfort in sorrow, 

How oft will I call them to mind. 

When I"m far, far away. 

For often they've taught me to hope 

For a brighter to-morrow. 

And bid me forget all my sadness 

And sorrow to-day. 

Farewell to the robin that awakened 

The Spring's early morn ; 

Farewell to the pheasant and squirrel, 

The blackbird so gay, 

Why robbed am I thus of your music 

So merry in May. 



THE EVOLUTION OF TEMPERANCE. 



HAVE watched this temperance question long 
Though I've nothing really strange or new ; 
I would have my little say in song, 
Ever careful only for the true. 

I have heard the Murphys and the Goughs, 

McConnells and the smaller fry, 
Heard the whiskey dealer's cruel scoff, 

And I've heard the wounded orjihan's cry. 



•21 



We have plotted, planned and oft devised 

Prohibition, option, moral suasion, 
Legislated, legal statutes oft revised, 

But the common fruit was law's evasion. 

Surely there's a medium in all things, 

And a certain point on either side, 
Hail the healthful moral tliat this sings, 

Whereon rectitude can not abide. 

We have good and evil for the choosing, 

And some giant evils must exist ; 
He alone's the liero, who refusing 

Steadfast, all allurement doth resist. 

Midst clouds and smoke and cannon's rattle. 

Good and evil war to win the day. 
Every hero's born of strife and battle, 

Strength he gains in every fiery fray. 

Nature holds a crown for those who strive, 
Strive's her mandate. st.iive my child or die ; 

For tlie fittest must and shall survive, 
Nothing in my realm e'er may idle lie. 

Go then drunkards drink your fill, 

Fill your poisoned goblets to the brnu, 

That is best for you which quickly kills, 
Craze your brain and palsey every limb. 

Only death you seek, only death you'll find, 

Nature's laws are vindicated when 
When in mercy she eradicates your kind 

And your place is filled with nobler men. 

[This poem was wa-itten many years ago. At the 
present time I would hesitate to endorse it's sentiments. 
We should help the fallen. I have seen the drunkard 
reform and become a good man. Author.] 



THE ORPHAN'S PLEA. 



i^^H, please don't say you're not my motlier, 

^^ 'Twill seem so good to little me ; 

Tlien your Willie will be my little brother, 

'Twill be more cheery, like it used "^o be. 

I used to have a mother all my own, 

I 'member well the morning that she died, 



22 



And left her little Mary all alone. 

And papa looked so sad, brother Willie cried. 

And when I heard them say that she was dead. 

I went and laid my hand upon her brow ; 

My heart was filled with grief and dread, 

'Twas dreadful cold, I think I feel it now. 

They put her down, way down, deep in the ground 

(I think some day she'll get alive again ;) 

They laid the earth and sods up all around. 

We put some flowers arovind her liead and then 

Poor Willie and my papa they died too. 

And they are lying by my mamma's side ; 

So now I have no mother left but you. 

You'll never know how hard I've tried and tried 

To think your Willie is my little brother ; 

Now can't yoiT t^tke jwor Mary for your own ? 

Do tell me then that you wilTbe my mother. 

Just think that I'm your little Mary Doan ; 

I'll try and think my mother is not dead. 

And vvhen the Winter's gone and Spring is here-, 

I'll plant some posies 'round her head. 

I think she'd like to have some posies there,. 

But tell me, won't you be my mother ? 



AN IDYL. 



'" MET her in the vernal dream, 
) Beside a riiipling sun-lit stream, 
When swallows built with mud and leaves? 
Beneath the ancient mossy eaves, 
And blackbirds carolled wild and free 
Midst rustling leaves from tree to tree.- 
Close by their cozy nests, new made, 
Nearby upon the soggy glade, 
The redbreast chanted in his glee ; 
And yet the sweetest voice to me, 
Was hers, that lass my only shrine,. 
That bonnie, bonnie lass o' mine. 

I saw" her in the morning- hours. 
Reclined beneath the leafy bowers, 
Where birdies sang, and humming bees 
Made music 'mong the budding trees. 
And sipped sweet nectar from the floAverpi 
'Twas in those early morning hours. 
A myriad of pearly dewdrops bright 
Were sparkling in the rosy light. 



28 



Which bathed in joj the roiUng lea ; 
And yet tlie briglitest far to me 
Was she, sweet lass, my oidy shrine, 
That bonnie, bonnie lass o 'niine. 

I saw her in the Summer's 'een, 

When all the fields were clothed in green 

A rainbow hung upon the sk3% 

All beauteous to the ravished eye, 

And odors " wantoned round the rine," 

'Twas Nature's sacred shrine, 

A place where gods and genii dwell, 

No human faltering tongue can tell. 

The wonderous beauty of that place, 

No gods nor fabled genii's face, 

Was e'en so sweet as hers, my shrine. 

That bounie, bonnie lass o' mine. 

Oh, then ye powers supreme, divine. 
The gracious will be wholly thine, 
So give me her in humblest cot 
If happilj' thus I'd envy not 
The greatest earthly prince his po%\er, 
Or regnant queen her richest dower, 
Nor heed Dame Fortune's smile or frown, 
To simply call that lass my own, 
Not all the priceless rubies rare 
Not all of India's treasures fair 
Would I accept for her, my shrine. 
That bonnie, bonnie lass o' mine. 



I'LL NE'ER FORGET MY NANNIE, O. 



I? a' the bonnie lassies e'er I met, 

f There's nane like Nannie yet ; 
She's aye sae gentle kind and cannie, O, 
This world has not anither Nannie, O, 

CHORUS, 

So never while my living currents flow, . 
Can I forget my gentle Nannie, O ; 
I vow I'll iviot forget my Nannie, O, 
I swear I'll not forget my Nannie, O. 

Her neat-kept raven liair looks aye sae weel, 
(I think this banging hair just bangs the de'il), 
Her shoulders slope, her waist's fu' slender, O, 
Her e'e is dark, her voice fu' tender, O, 



24 



Her rosy cheek, her brow's like driven snee, 
And Heaven beams frae out her deep dark e'e ; 
Her voice is Hke the cooing o' a dove. 
She's sic a lass nae man could help but love. 

Ah! many lang, lanely hours hae fled 

Sin' last I look'd upon her bonnie head, 

Or baskit neath the glances o' her e'e, 

And oh ! how lang and lane those hours to me. 

Oh, speed the days and pass the hours o'er, 
And let me hear her gentle voice once more. 
Since last I saw my gentle Nannie, O, 
The woods and fields hae bloom'd all bonnie, O. 

The fragrant flowers hae bloom'd o'er hill and dale. 
And singing birds hae wing'd o'er mount and vale ; 
But now. alas ! those singing birds ai-e fled. 
And all the simmer's bloom is pale and dead. 

Yet soon I'll gie the Fates a sudden slip, 

To me 'twill only be a pleasant trip, 

To hie awa' and see my Nannie, O. 

She has my heart, she has my hand for weal or woe. 

One potent cause for all our grief and woe 
Is this, that men neglect their Nannie, O; 
Who trifles finds transgressors rue the day. 
Then, men, do what you will when you're away. 

But by the holy powers above you. 
By all the hoi^es of those that love you, 
Unless you court a life of grief and woe, 
Then don't, oh, don't neglect your Nannie, O. 



RATHER POINTED AGAIN. 



A LADY ANSW^ERS THE WRITER OF THE AUTOGRAPH ALBUM 
Editor Siiiiday News : 

The following appeared in your last Sunday's issue. 
Will you kindly oblige me by publishing an answer to it? 

RATHER POINTED. 
A young lady of this city asked a gentleman acquaint- 



ance to write something in her autograph album. He 
compUed, and this is the way he did it : 
Oh ! happy is the man that can 

A woman's impish arts defy. 
You may not think tnat I'm that man. 

And yet that very man am I. 
Another thing is just as true — 
My words do not apply to you. 

THE REPLY. 

A woman's impish arts indeed ! 

Pray tell me true, sir, if you can, 
How often woman is deceived 

By that deceitful monster man ? 

That very man you say are you — 

Who can a woman's arts defy. 
Conceited man, though dost not know ; 

Take up thy gauntlet ; I'll not try. 

Per force, per se, I say to thee : 

' ' My words to you may not apply ; " 

Untrue are thou, oh ! B. J. B., • 

Whilst ever true, B. M am I. 



SING, OH, SING THAT SONG FOR ME AGAIN. 



H^ING, oh sing that song for me again, 
3) It whispers thoughts so sweet to me of yore ; 
Of many things I dream that happened then 
Of dearly loved ones only gone before. 

Yes, sing ! oh, sing ! for me again, 

It tells of happy childhood's hopes and fears ; 
Like strains of music from some far-off shore ; 

It comes down the mystic stream of years. 

As o'er tempestuous seas we've cheerless sailed, 
Through dreary days and nights we've come ; 

What bursts of joy when some lone vessel's hailed. 
Perchance a sail or craft we've known at home. 

" A sail ! " then " ship ahoy! " and '"whither bound !" 
Each bosom heaves — and tides of life run high ; 

While from those passing decks we hear resound, 
A burst of joy — now sparkles every eye. 



26 



And so in life, when o er its troubled sea. 

For weary months and years we've cheerless gone; 

Perchance a word or act of childi-h glee. 

Recalls some joj'ous scene tliat once we've known 

Then sing, oh, sing that song for me once more, 
It tells of happy childhood's joys and dreams : 

In it I seem to live my childhood o'er. 

And sweet, oh, sweet, the fond illusion seems. 



ACROSTIC. 



(By a highiy-esteemed lady friend.) 

In Memorittm. 

Jesus said unto him, "thou shalt love the Lord thy 

God, with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and 

with all thy mind 
A ND the peace of God, which passeth all understand- 
ing, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ 

Jesus. 

M AKE us glad according to the days wherein thou hast 

afflicted us. and the years wherein we have seen evil. 

pVEN as the son of man came not to be ministered 

-unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for 

majiy. 
Cay not ye, there are yet four months and then cometh 
^harvest, behold, I say unto you, lift up your eyes and 

look on the fields for they are white already to harvest. 
DEHOLD the lamb of God that taketh away the sins of 

the world. 
pVEN the righteousness of God, which is by faith in 

Jesus Christ vmto all, and upon all them that believe 

for there is no difference. 
pETURN unto me and I will return unto you, saith the 

Lord of Hosts. 



AY in all these things we are more than conquerors 
through him that loved us. 



N 

rVEN Christ pleased not himself. 

VE are bought with a ])rice, be not ye the servants 
of men. 






rief Q)ay/\n^^ 









29 



We often diet in order to live it. 

Tlie day laborer has that wliich is often denied to 
Kings and Emperors — a good appetite and refreshing 
sleep. 

The grandest spectacle on earth is the man who stands 
up like a tower of strength in the midst of his own rviins. 

Man is so constituted that even a smile or a word of 
friendly recognition enables him to bear up under the 
most grievious burdens. 

There is that which seems to exalt a man when it is 
debasing him, and there is that which seems to debase 
him when it is exalting him. 

Our prcjgress as a race is like that of a man who had 
lived through all generations profiting by his own expe- 
rience and that of his fellows. 

The grape must be bruised before it will yield its wine, 
and so of the human mind — it must be bruised in the 
wine press of the bitterest experiences before it will 
yield its richest thought. 

Woman is a strange mixture of divine goodness and 
human cussedness. 

Knowledge is not subject to that law of arithmetic 
which applies to our othur possessions ; it increases in 
proportion to the amount we impart to others. 

The loveliest flower.-, are those of domestic felicity, but 
like other domestic flowers, they come not as a spon- 
taneous growth, but live and thrive only by the utmost 
care and attention. 

The majority of heroes are unwritten. We often 
diet in order to live it. 

If Life had no struggles it would have no triumphs. 

Universal brotherhood admits of no creed but brother- 
hood. 

Little men boast, great men are above it. 

The penalty for expressing an honest opinion is very 
light now — ostracism, that's all. 

Never despair of finding a lady in a cabin, or too con- 
fident of finding one in a mansion. 

We know things best by contrast. To know joy at 
greatest heiglits we must have known sorrow st its 
greatest depths. 



80 

It IS an irrevocable law of Nature that ths scales of 
Justice must balance sometime, somewhere, somehow. 

The most reliable resolutions are those made in the 
presence of the greatest temptations. 

To every life there should be a Pisga's top and a 
Promised Land. Every life has its Gethsemana, but for 
every Gethsemane there is a mount of transfiguration. 

A coquette is a woman without any heart, who makes 
a fool of a man without any head. 

Of the two, I would rather associate with a mati who 
swears and means no harm, than with a man who prays 
and means no good. 

The minister may pronounce the ceremony, but he 
cannot marry the couple. Nature only can do that if it 
is ever done. 

It is the very paradox of thought that he only who 
can dive tiie deepest in thought will be capable of the 
loftiest flights of thought. 

The natural man is the only true man. Posthumous 
honors avail nothing to the dead. 

Human progress makes the crowned heads of the 
World only refugees. 

Necessity is a goal that drives us to greater effort. 

If I am immortal, so is my dog ; and I don't deny 
either. 

To judge a man justly we must understand his case 
from first to last. 

Locks and keys are the ever-present proofs of human 
depravity. 

A man without faults could scarcely be a popular 
tnan. We must have something in common with our 
fellow-men to be able to sympathize vrith them and to 
be appreciated by them in return. A great philosopher 
says : " 1 have committed every known fault." A life 
without battles is a life without victory. 

A tender heart with a hard head makes a model man i 
but a hard heart and a hard head makes a bad combina- 
tion. 

Good whiskey — that which kills the quickest. 

There is a threadbare coat in M.oyo for the man of in- 
dependent thought. 

A bad government is a political volcano. Loyalty is 
the result of good government. 

We often miss the truth bv thinking we have it. 



31 

The greater the truth the slower we are to learn it. 

Man is by Nature the sole proprietor of his own mind. 

You can do no good for a man if there be no good in 
him.» 

The monkeys are the only party really injured by 
Darwin's theory. 

Those who produce the wealth of a country, enjoy the 
least of their labor. 

I may see visions, but my neighbor is not bound to be^ 
lieve my report of them. 

We receive a man for what there is on him, and retain 
him for what there is in him. 

Hunger and \Aant are grim realities, but they are more 
tolerable than so-called charity. 

Happiness is like a mirage or a will o' the wisp, ever 
luring us on, till, as a child, wearied with its toys, we 
lay us down in the sleep of oblivion, 

Death is a gi'eat reformer. 

Flattery is a first-class power. 

There is a gospel in soap iind water, 

Man proposes, but woman disposes. 

Before we have learned to live, we die. 

The witness that needs to be sworn is by nature a false 
witness. 

Never let your hand go where your lieart cannot go. 

He who is just to himself can be just to otheiU 

Genius is often mistaken for insanity, and vice versa. 

Treat all good thoughts as guests, and bad thoughts as 
intruders. 

An epigram is a stuffed club. 

Man knows the least of himself." 

The tailor makes a large proportion of men> 

A. few words will often express a great thought.'* 

Some people mistake indigestion for religion. 

We make money the only end of our existence : it 
should be only the means to a good end. 

Dancing is the poetry of motion ; music is the poetry 
of the mind. 

Nature is a slowly unfolding revelation, and all other 
revelations must abide by her final decisions. 

All I know of the future m.iy be written in tln-ee 
words— I don't know. 



83 



A frivolous woman worships the man that ruins her, 
and ruins the man that worships her. 

We can see everything but ourselves 

A logical woman and a crowing hen are rare excep- 
tions. Her conclusions are intuitive. 

Nature produces by wholesale and retains by retail. 

Vice performs all the dvities of judge, jury and hang- 
man. 

All men are not born equal, but all men have equal 
rights before the law. 

Lying actions are no better than lying words. 

What we fail to decide for ourselves others will decide 
for us. 

To disbelieve after proof is as stupid as to believe with- 
out proof. 

In our true calling we see no drudgery. Out of it, all 
is drudgery. 

Seek praise and the world will deny you the credit 
which is justly j'our due. 

At twenty we think ourselves superior to our fathers 
and mothers. At forty we often respect our inferiority. 

The miracle of Balaam's ass presents no difficulties to 
me. It is nothing uncommon for an ass to speak. 

If the bears were commissioned to devour all the dis- 
obedient children, they would fall benind in their orders 

Men do not like to believe in their ape origin, and yet 
nine-tenths of them are not ashamed to act the ape. 

The schoolmaster cultivates the back, the scholar 
cultivates his head, and the dancing master cultivates 
his heels, which is the secret of the latter's great popu- 
larity . 

The best help to give the needy is something to do. 

Truth needs not a body-guard. Error only needs de- 
fense. 

I have seen preachers with very fine deliveries who 
had nothing to deliver. 

Experience is the raw material wherewith the wise 
make proverbs. 

An old bacheler is one who has missed the chance of 
making some woman miserable. 

Every man and woman that is born into the world 
has a natural right to live in this world until they prove 
an enemv to their kind. 



33 



If there be-ii spark oi' .i^ood in <he liquor trallic it 
must survive, if not, it must go down because of its own 
corruptions. 

" Whatsoever ye would that men should do under you, 
do ye so even unto them,'" is the only ci-eed tiie world 
ever needed. 

Man is the mysterious product of vast ages, waking 
up to the reality of his own individual existence and the 
wonders around him, but he knows not whence he came, 
or whither he goes. His body is from the earth, but 
that is as nothing compared to the whole man. What of 
the / or the me that takes knowledge of his own indi- 
viduality and that of others, and the wonderful rela- 
tionship of things that surround him. 

Two things I've found beneath the sun. Yea, more — 
there are no less than tln-ee that serve us mortal men 
alike : The empty honors of the world, our shadows, 
and that ever-charming creature, woman. When we in 
eager haste pursue, they flee, and when we fiee they 
eagerly pursue. 

To live ! What do these words at least imply ? 
But this — to all arovind some pleasure give ; 
So scatter seeds of kindness while we live. 
To grow and blossom, blossom when we die. 

Dictionaries do not make facts. 

Pity and contempt are half sistei'S. 

An old bachelor is a nown, neuter genter, third person 
singular, and agrees with nothing expressed or under- 
stood. 

The human family is divided into two classes : Those 
who worry because they are not married, and those who 
worry because they are married. 

Bigotry is the first born of ignorance. 

A good husband and a good wife are a rare team. 

The only true aristocracy is that of the head and 
heart. 

The greatest discovery — a man ; the luckiest find — a 
woman. 

Was the healing of Peter's mother-in-law a blessing to 
Peter ? 

Dogs are sometimes more human than their masters. 

It is better to oppress one's self than suffer the least 
restriction by others. 

Love is an unutterable goneness as it were. 



34 



We miss the sun when it is under a cloud, friends when 
they are absent, and healtli when we are sick. 
Wages are often so high one cannot reach them. 

Inabihty in the pulpit can only thrive by gullability in 
the pew. 

We may be robbed of our reputa'^ion, but never of our 
character, without our own consent. 

Happiness consists, not in the abundance of things 
we possess, but in the simplicity of our wants. 

It is one thing to train the mind ; it is another thing to 
educate the mind. 

Man must have traveled far up in the path of evolu- 
tion before he could tell lies, and he will have to travel 
a long ways fiu'ther before he will stop telling lies. 

There are three stages in every useful life. First, we 
are apprentices wherein we learn the use of tools. Next^ 
we go out as journeymen to learn that there are often 
many ways of accomplishing the same purpose. But 
not until our false conceits are all tamed down, are 
worthy of niasterliood. or to be called masters. 







<§)electeel ©em^. 






37 

FALLEN. 



[This poem was written by a lost woman while in De- 
troit jail. It is sad to think that one so intellectually 
gifted should be bi-ouftht thus low. Aside from the sym- 
jiathetic chords which it will touch in every heart, it is 
meritoi-ious as a literary work.] 

The iron voice from yonder spire has hushed its hollow 

tone. 
And midnight finds me lying here all silent and alone ; 
The still moon thro' my window sheds its soft light on 

the floor. 
With a melancholy paleness I have never seen before. 
And the summer wind comes to me with its sad ^olian 

As if burthened with the sorrows of aweary, weary day; 
Yet the moonlight cannot soothe me of the sickness here 

within, 
And the sad wind takes no portion from the bosom's 

weight of sin. 

Yet my heart and all its pulses seem so quietly to rest, 
That I scarcely feel them beating in my arms or in my 

breast ; 
And tiiese rounded limbs are resting now so still upon 

the bed. 
That one would think to see me here that I was lying 

dead. 
What if 'twere so '? What if I died — died as I am lying 

now, 
With something like to virtue's' calm upon this marble 

brow V 
What if I died to-night? Ah! now this slothful heart 

begins i o beat, 
A fallen wretch like me to pass from earth is sadly sweet. 

Yet am I calm — as calm as clouds that slowly float and 

form. 
To give their tearful strenf^th to some unpitying summer 

storm ; 
As calm as great Sahara, ere the simoon sweeps its waste. 
Or as the wide sea. ere the breaking waves its shores 

have laced. 
Still, still I have no tears to shed ; these eyelids have no 

store — 
The fountain once within me is a fountain now no more. 



3S 

The moon alone weeps for me now, the pale and thought- 
ful moon, 
She weeps for dying Mary, through all the night's sweet 

noon. 
What if I died to-night within these wretched, gilded 

walls. 
Upon wliose crimson length no eye of virtue ever falls ? 
What would its soulless inmates do when they should 

find me here. 
With cheek too white for passion's smile, too cold for 

passion's tear ? 
Oh! would one come, and from these arms unclasp the 

bauble bands ; 
Another wrench the jewels off my fairer, whiter hands ; 
This splendid robe another's form would grace, oh ! long 

before 
The glistening moonligh t came again to sleep upon the 

floor. 

And when they laid me down in earth where pauper's 

graves are made, 
Beneath no bending weeping willow's angel-haunted 

shade. 
Who'd come and plant a flower o'er poor Mary's friend- 
less grave. 
Or trim the tangled wild grass that no summer's wind 

could wave ? 
Who'd raise a stone to mark it from the ruder graves 

around, 
That the passing stranger's footsteps might respect the 

spot of ground ? 
No stone would stand above me, no little waving tree. 
No hand would plant a flower o'er a fallen wretch like 

me. 

What if I died to-night 'i And when to-morrow's sun 

had crept 
What late the softly radiant moon in virgin heaven 

slept, 
They'd come and find me here. Oh ! who would weep 

to see me dead ? 
Who'd bend the knee of sorrow by the pulseless wanton's 

bed? 
There's one would come — my mother ! God bless the 

angel's baud 
That bore her. ere her daughter fell, toyonder quiet land. 
Thank God for all the anthems that the gladdened 

angels sung 
When my mother went to heaven, and I was pure and 

young. 



39 



I'm all alone to night. Ho'v strange that I should be 

alone ! 
This splendid chamber seems to want some roue's wonted 

tone. 
Yon soulless mirror, with its smooth and all unvarnished 

face, 
Sees not these jeweled arms to-night in their unchaste 

embrace. 
Oh ! I have fled the fever of that heated, crowded hall, 
Wbere I might claim the richest and gayest of them all — 
Where I could smile upon them with that easy, wanton 

grace 
That checks the blood of virtue that would struggle in 

my face. 

But I hate them all, I scorn them, as they scorn me on 

the street ; 
I could spurn away the pressure that my lips so often 

meet ; 
I could trample on the lucre that their passion never 

spares, 
For they've robbed me of a heritage above the price of 

theirs ; 
They can never give me back what I have thrown away. 
The brightest jewel woman wears througeout her little 

day : 
The brightest and the only one, that from the cluster 

riven 
Shuts out forever woman's heart from all its hopes of 

heaven. 

What if I died to-night — and died as I am lying here ? 

There's many a green leaf withers ere the autumn comes 
to sear. 

There's many a dew-drop shaken down ere yet the sun- 
shine came, 

And many a spark hath died before it wakened into 
flame. 

What if I died to-night and left these wretched bonds of 
clay. 

To seek beyond this hollow sphere a brighter, better day? 

What if my soul passed out and sought that haven of 
the blest 

*' Where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary 
are at rest ? " 

Would angels call me from above, and beckon me to 

come 
And join them in their holy songs in that eternal home ? 



40 



Would they clasp their hands in gladness when they saw 

my soul set free, 
And point beside my mother to a place reserved for me ? 
Would they meet me as a sister — as one of precious 

worth, 
Who had won a place in heaven by her holiness on earth? 
O God ! I would not have my soul go out upon the air, 
With all its weight of wretchedness, to wander where ? 

oh where V 



THANATOPSIS. 



I^^O him who, in the love of Nature holds 

"aU Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 

A various language ; for his gayer hours 

She has a voice of gladness and a smile 

And eloquence of beauty : and she glides 

Into his darker musings with a mild 

And gentle sympathy, that steals away 

Their sliarpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 

Of tlie last bitter hour come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stei'n agony, and shroud and pall. 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 

Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart ; 

Go forth under the open sky and list 

To Nature's teachings, while from all around — 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 

Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee 

The all-beliolding sun shall see no more 

In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground. 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears. 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourislied thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again : 

And, lost each human tryce, surrendering up 

Tliine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix fo:ever with the elements ; 

To be a brother to the insensible rock, 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 

Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 

With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings 

The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the good. 



41 



Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchi-e. The hills. 

Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun ; the vales 

Stretching in pensive quietness ))et\veen ; 

The venerable woods ; rivers that move 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 

That make the meadows green : and. poured round all, 

Old ocean's gray and melanclioly waste — 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of tlie great tomb of man ! The golden svm, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 

Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 

Where roils the Oregon, and hears no sound 

Save his own dashings — Yet the dead are there ! 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 

The fliglit of years began, have laid them down 

In their last sleep. — the dead reign there alone ! 

So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 

In silence from the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure ': The gay will laugh 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 

His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glide away, the sons of men — 

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron and maid. 

The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 

And beauty of its innocent age rut off — 

Shall one by one, be gathered to thy side 

By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan that moves 

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 

His chamber in the silent halls of death. 

Then go not. like the quarry-slave at night. 

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothetl 

Bv an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 

About him, and lies down to j^leasant dreams. 

— Williitm Cullrn Bryant. 



43 

NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

i)ING out wild hells, to the wild sky, 

y The flying' cloud, the frosty light ; 

The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out wild liclls and let him die. 

Rin'j: out the old. ring in the new ; 

Ring happy hells, accross the snow ; 

The year is going, let him go : 
Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the giief that saps the mind, 
P^or those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 

Ring in redress to all mankind. 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 
And ancient forms of ])arty strife : 
Ring in the nohler modes of life. 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
The civic slander and the spite : 
Ring in the lover of truth and right. 

Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease. 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old. 

Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free. 
The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land ; 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

— Alfred Tcnnys^nu, 



BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. 



DEEM not they are blest alone 

Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; 

The Power who pities man has shown 
A b.essing for the eyes that weep. 

The light of smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears ; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier yeans. 



43 



There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night ; 

And grief may bide an evening guest. 
But joy shall come with early light. 

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, 
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man's trust depart. 

Though life its common gifts deny — 
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart. 

And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day. 
And numbered every seci'et tear. 

And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 



THE RIVER TIME. 



fH ! a wonderful stream is the river Time, 
As it runs through tlie realm of tears. 
With a faultless rhythm and a musical riiyme 
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime. 
As it blends in the ocean of years ! 

How the wir>.ters are drifting like flakes of snow, 

And the suminei's like birds between. 
And the years in the sheaf, how they com? and they go 
On the river's breast with its ebb and its flow. 

As it glides in the shadow and sheen ! 

There's a magical isle up thf river Time, 

Where the softest of airs are playing, 
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. 
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, 

And the Junes with the roses are straying. 

And the name of this isle is the "Long Ago," 

And we bury our treasures there ; 
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow, 
Tliere are heaps of dust — oh! we loved them so — 

There are trinkets and tresses of hair. 



44 



There are fragments of songs that nobody sings, 

There are parts of an infant's prayer. 
There's a lute unswept and a harp without strings, 
There are broken vows and pieces of rings. 

And the garments our loved used to wear. 

There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 

By the fitful mirage is lifted in air, 
And we sometimes hear through the turbulent roar 
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, 

When the wind down the river was fair. 

Oh ! remembered for aye be that blessed isle. 

All the day of ovir life until night ; 
And when evennig glows with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing in slumbers awhile 

May the greenwood of soul be in sight. 

— Benjamin F. TayJor. 



YOU PUT NO FLOWERS ON PAPA'S GRAVE. 



» JiTH sable-draped ^banners, and slow measured 

^J tread, 

The flower-laden ranks pass the gates of the dead ; 
And seeking each mound where a comrade's form rests, 
Leave tear-bedewed garlands to bloom on his breast. 
Ended at last is the labor of love ; 
Once more through the gateway the saddened lines 

move — 
A wailing of anguish, a sobbing of grief, 
Falls low on the ear of the battle-scarod chief ; 
Close crouched by the portal?-, a sunny-haired child 
Besought him in accents with grief rendered wild : 

" Oil ! sir. he was good, and they said he died brave — 
Wliy ! why ! did you jiass by my dear papa's grave ":' 
I knovN' he was poor, but as kind and as true 
As ever marched into the battle with you — 
His grave is so humble, no stone marks the spot. 
You may not have seen it. Oh, say you did not ! 
For my poor heart will break if you knew he was there. 
And thought him too lowly your offerings to share. 
He didn't die lowly — he poui'ed his heart's blood, 
In rich crimscm streams, from the top-crowning sod 
Of the breastworks which stood in front of the fight — 
And dieJ shouting ' Onward ! for God and the right ! ' 



4") 



OVr all his dead comrades your bright garlands wave, 
But you haven't put one on ?n.// papa's grave. 
If mamma were here — bnt she lies by his side. 
Her wearied heart broke when our dear papa died." 

" Battalion ! file left ! countermarch ! " cried the chief, 
"This young oriihan'd maid hath full cause for her 

grief." 
Then up in his arms from the hot, dusty street. 
He lifted the maiden, while in through the gate 
The long line repasses, and many an eye 
Pays fresh tribute of tears to the lone orphan's sigh. 
"This way it is— here, sir— right under this tree : 
They lie close together, with just room for me." 
'•Halt ! Cover with roses each lowly green mound — 
A love pure as this makes these graves hallowed ground." 
"Oh ! thank you, kind sir ! T ne'er can repay 
The kindness you've shown little Daisy to-day ; 
But I'll pray for you here, each day while I live, 
'Tis all that a poor soldier's orphan can give. 

I shall see papa soon, and dear mamma too — 
I dreamed so last night, and I know 'twill come true ; 
And they will both bless you, I know, when I say 
How you folded your arms round their dear one to-day — 
How you cheered her sad heart, and soothed it to rest. 
And hashed its wild throbs on your strong noble breast ; 
And when the kind angels shall call you to come, 
We'll welcome you there to our beautiful home. 
Where death never comes, his black banners to wave. 
And the beautiful flowers ne'er weep o'er a grave." 

— C. E. L. Holmes. 



THE RAVEN. 



i^^)NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, 

^^ weak and weary. 

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten 

lore, — 
While I nodded, nearly najiping, suddenly there came a 

tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber 

door. 
'"Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber 

door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 



46 



Ah distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon 

the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly I had sought to 

borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 

Lenore, — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore — 

Nameless here forever more. 



And t'^e silken, sad. uncertain rustling of each purple 
cirtain. 

Thrilled me, — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt 
before ; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood re- 
peating, 

" 'Tis some visitor enti-eating entrance, at my chamber- 
door. — 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at juy chamber- 
door ; 

That is is, and nothing more." 

Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesitating then no 
longer, 

*'Sir,'' said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im- 
plore ; 

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came 
rapping. 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my cham- 
ber-door. 

That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide 
the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, won- 
dering, fearing. 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 
dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no 
token. 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered 
word, " Lenore ! " 

This / whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, 
"Lenore ! " 

Merely this and nothing more. 



47 



Back into the chamber turaia<;-. all my soul within me 
burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder tiian be- 
fore . 

"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my win- 
dow-lattice : 

Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery ex- 
plore, — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mysteiy ex- 
plore — 

'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt 
and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of 
yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopped 
or stayed lie ; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- 
ber-door, — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, jusi above my chamber- 
door — 

Perched and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smil- 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 

wore, 
'•Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, tliou," I said, 

"art sure no craven ; 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandei'ing from the 

nightly shore. 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's Plutonian 

shore?" 

Quoth the raven, ' 'Nevermore ! " 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 
so plainly. 

Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his cham- 
ber-door. 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham- 
ber-door 

With such name as ' 'Nevermore I " 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke 
only 



48 



Tliat one word, as if Ills soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he 

fluttered — 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have 

flown before. 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown 

before. 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " 

Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and 
store. 

Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 
disaster 

Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one bur- 
den bore. 

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore," 
Of— 'Never — nevermore ! " 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into saiiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and 

bust and door. 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking v;hat this ominous bird of 

yore— 
"What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 
bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore ! " 

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable express- 
ing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's 
core ; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease re- 
clining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated 
o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloat- 
ing o'er 

She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

Then methouglit the air grew denser, perfumed from an 

unseen censer, 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the 

tufted floor, 
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee— by these 

angels he hath sent thee 



49 



Respite— respite and nepenthe fioui thy ineujories of 

I.enore I 
Quaff, oh (|uafF this kind nejjenthe, and forget this lost 

Lenore ! "' 

Quoth the raven "Nevermore!" 

'' Prophet ! "' said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 
here ashore. 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- 
chanted — 

On this liome by horror haunted — tell me tridy, I im- 
plore, — 

Is there -is there balm in Gilead V — tell me— tell me, 1 
imjjlore ! " 

Quoth the raven. "Nevermore ! " 

*' Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird 

or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we 

both adore. 
Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant 

Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name 

Lenore ; 
Clasp a rare and radient maiden, whom the angels name 

Lenore I '" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I 
shrieked, upstarting, — 

*' Get thee back into the tempest and the night's Plu- 
tonian shore. 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 
spoken ! 

Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above mj 
door ! 

Take thv beak from out my heart, and take thy form 
from off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sit- 
ting 

On the ]>aliid bust of Pallas, just above my chainber- 
door : 



50 



And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is 

dreaming, 
And the lamp-Hght o"er him streaming throws his 

shadow on the floor : 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on 

the floor 
Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 

— Edgar A . Poe. 



THE KNIGHT OF ST. CRISPIN, 
OR THE LEARNED COBBLER. 



JPVE read somewhere, how once in by-gone days 
^ That common cobblers took to learned wa5'S, 
Well posted up in things of church and state ; 
How glib they were in scientific prate. 
Each in his turn, for others spoke and read, 
Who pegged away and noted what was said. 
But now I have a modern cobbler in my mnd 
That leaves all ancient cobblers far behind. 
A finer Crispin never made a fit 
A better cobbler sure, a sprig ne'er hit, 
A bigger slouch ne'er lived since time began. 
And yet, beneath those rags there breathed a man. 
No theologic point for him too fine, 
Nor deep, not e'en the Trinity Divine. 
His faith was firm in trans-substantiation, 
To doubt was sin enough to damn a nation. 
Defended loud and well Old Erin's cause, 
Disputed England's right to frame her laws. 
He worshipped " Ford," and eager read his " AVorld ; " 
And then he doubly damned the N. Y. Herald. 
He roie not early, but he worked full late. 
And when his "crowd " came in, he rose in state, 
And with the eloquence of great St. Paul, 
His words poured forth, he vanquished all. 
He had his patrons, some on gilt-edge list. 
But some wei'e bad, their very names he hissed. 
" There's James Galbraith, he's true in all his ways. 
His word's a bond, you may depend on what he says. 
When work is done his money's on the mark. 
Thei"(''s Tom Mulvey, what shall I say, the shark. 
His boots are done — three months they're on my hand- 
Just what to do with him I'm at a stand ; 



51 



I wish I had, I swear, his well-tanned skin ; 

I swear I'd like to draw the waxed-end in. 

Ifs on the ' beat ' he is — I wish him luck : 

Just wait ! some time I"ll nab me Laddy Buck." 

This cobbler had a vixen of a wife, 

That proved a very terror to his life. 

She'd give him H — 1, and then skip out 

And leave two bairns for him to clean and clout. 

How oft 'tis thus with men of heart and mind, 

In things de-cour, to get sore left behind. 

What pearls attend the married state 

When Wisdom speaks, but speaks too late. 

'Tis not in grace to keep that wedlock straight 

Where young Miss Early weds to Mr. Late. 

For he who marries much beneath his years, 

Takes worlds and worlds of risk on eyes and ears ; 

But then John's nuptials hooded much of ill, 

The bliss John sought, poor John is seeking still. 

He had, 'tis true, the lady's full consent, 

But when he turned his back, the ladj^ went ; 

For from the ordinary course of love 

Did John's the least exception prove. 

But he got round as quiet as a mouse, 

Tlie Squire was summoned to his humble house. 

He came with legal mein and earnest look, 

He carried too, a pen and ink and book. 

He said " we're here, for haste there is no need, 

But if all things are ready, we'll proceed." 

The groom looked anxious round and then replied, 

" The Squire, the witness, all I lack's the bride," 

The Squire now turned and went his way, 

"Go, catch the bird. I'll come another day 

He said, and I'll come straightway down 

And e'er the birdie flies I'll make you one. 

In this grave fact we all mvist coincide, 

There is no wedding where there is no bride."' 

The would-be groom, now searched through all the night 

And found the truant damsel near daylight. 

But now the Squire was soundly napping so 

He'd dreamed and dreamed of some one rapping so 

That night upon his bed-room window pane. 

And thinking 'twas a dream he dozed again ; 

But morning came — the Squire was prompt on hand. 

The witness, bride and groom were on the stand. 

They both were pledged for better or for worse, 

The sequel proves she was a bitter curse. 

For what she never knew she would contend, 

Till waxing loud, all peace was at an end. 

She said one day she hoped to die 



53 



If ought she ever met to clean a house 

Was half so good as consecrated lie." 

John stared at such expression from his spouse. 

He suggested concentrate for consecrate, 

But she maintained her word appropriate, 

From angry words they came to angry blow^s, 

And John was left to nurse a bloody nose. 

His church admitting no divorce. 

He grabbed the broom and drove her out by f< rce. 

Oh ! how we grieve when things oppose our mind. 

But in the lapse of after years we find 

How kindly were the rulings left to fate 

Those fancied pleasures that we'd scarce forego 

Oft prove a curse and fill our lives with woe. 

John's troubles came when he expected least, 

Then for relief he sought the parish priest. 

The priest, a man quite young in years, , 

Allayed the cobbler's greatest fears. 

It was too much for John upon the whole 

Two care two bairns for fltsh and soul ; 

He for his children would asylum find, 

With food and eai'e ju^t suited to his mind. 

I saw the cobbler late that very night : 

By his contented face saw all was right. 

He lit his pipe, his sorrows rolled away in smoke; 

He crossed his legs, and thus this cobbler spoke : 

'• Say, Jim, hovve'er they may, let skeptics rave, 

Religion is a d — d good thing to have. 

May'be we'er right to-day. but how's to-morrow? 

But this we^know, it comforts us in sorrow. 

I've seen in full, life's vanity and shame. 

And as for me, 'tis but a life in name. 

When all seems going for the best 'tis loss. 

Our gold, though durable, it seems, is dross. 

Our sorrows make our hearts more mellow still, 

Our care should be to heed our fellow's ill 

Through all, a work of justice and of love, 

And for the rest we'll trust the Man Above.'* 

— Anonymous. 



TO- A LADY FRIEND. 



\^ HAVE in my window a sweet little rosebud in 
jM^ bloom, 

i think this little rosebud's not blooming alone for me. 
So i'U vvoo it to wait till Minnie, sweet Minnie comes 

home, 
For somehow or other it seems to be blooming for thee. 



53 



SOME TENDER LOINS. 



BUTCHER loved a tender maid, 
To woo her were his designs, 
And he sent her copies of tender verse, 
In fact, real tenderloins. 

The girl, alas ! he could not suet. 
She would love him as a brother. 

But when implored to marry, said, 
" Tripe, please, and find another" 

The butcher still pursued the girl. 
His pleas became much bolder ; 

The girl at last, to find relief, 
Gave him a cold shoulder. 

He knew then that his hopes were vain, 

But as he left her said, 
^' Since you have caused me such distress, 

I'll liaunch you when Tm dead." 

He tried in drink to drown his cares. 

And there found no relief. 
But daily grew more woe begone. 

You never sausage grief. 

At last his weary soul found rest, 

His sorrows now are o'er ; 
No fickle maid now troubles him. 

Pork readier, he's no more. 



MY LITTLE WIFE. 



^^HE isn't very pretty 

^W (So say my lady friends) ; 

She's neither wise nor witty 
With verbal odds and ends. 

No fleeting freaks of Fashion 
Accross her fancy run. 

She's never in a passion — 
Except a tender one. 



54 



Her voice is low and cooing : 
She listens more than speaks ; 

While others talk of doing, 
The duty near she seeks. 

It may be Init to burnish 

The sideboard's scanty plate. 

Or Imt with bread to furnish 
The beggar at the gate. 

So I who see what graces 
She sheds on lowly life. 

To Fashion's faire.st faces 
Prefer my little wife. 

And though at her with pity 

The city dames may smile. 

Who deem her hardly pretty 

And sadly out of style- 
To me she seems a creature 

So musically sweet. 
I would not change one feature- 
One curve from crown to feet. 

And if I could be never 
Her lover and her mate, 

I think I'd be forever 
The beggar at (he gate. 



-H. W. AiiMin. 



TAKING TOLL. 



^^N Ihe door of the mill stood Richard Lee, 
^j1?) White as an image of snow was he. 
From his heavy boots to his beautiful lips. 
From the crown of his hat to his finger-tips. 

Now, slo%vly jogging along the street, 
Di-ove farmer Brown with his grist of wheat, 
And witli him Bessie, fresh as the spring, 
And ripe as the fruits the fall months bring. 

While the farmer drove about the town. 
Young Lee gro uid the wheat and bolted it dou-n 
With man}' a glance at the maiden fair. 
Who sat bv the door in the > aken chair. 



At last he called her in shouting tones. 
And she stood by the whirling, rumbling stones, 
And watched the grain as it ebbed so still, 
Till the farmer came, but the noise of the mill 

Drowned the sound of his feet, and over the hopper 
Two heads were bent, and when Richard Lee 
Saw him standing there he stajnmered, " I — see — 

That is" — then he paused and shuffled his feet, 
" I think there are weevils in your wheat ! " 
But the farmer smiled and said, " Well, Bess, 
Of the two evils always choose the less."' 

And the maiden looked down confused and meek. 

With a patch of flour on one cheek ! 

Still the old man didn't take it ill, 

For he knew young Richard owned the mill. 

But he mused as they slowly rode away : 

" Well ! I've been to the mill now many a day — 

Say forty odd years — but bless my soul, 

That chap beats all of them taking toll." 



THE DYING SHOEMAKER. 



^EAR WIFE, I'm waxing near my end," 
(> The dying cobbler said ; 
Soon to an upper world my sole 
Its lonely way must thi-ead. 

" I fear, indeed, I'm pegging out ; 

But then what boots it, love ? 
Here we've been a well-fitted pair, 

And so we'll be above. 

" My ills I know no drugs may heel. 

So its welt to prepare ; 
We can't run counter to our fate — 

Just put a peg in there ! 

" The future need not give you care, 
I've left my awl to you ; 

For deep within m\ inner sole, 
I know that you've been true. 



50 



" I've always given you your rights. 

But now you must be left ; 
However, do not grieve too much 

When of nie 3'ou"re bereft. 

" A-last farewell I now will take," 
He smiled and rai.sed hi-^ head ; 

'• B-last the cruel malady 
That lays you lew,' she said. 

" I'll slipper way in peace." he sighed, 
'•The strife will soon be past," 

His head fell back, he sweetly smiled, 
And then he breathed his last. 



THE OLD TIN DINNER PAIL. 



[This poem, now published for the first time, vvas 
written by James Holden. of Oswego, N. Y.. in 1.S5S, 
who carried his dinner pail to and fro for two years, a 
distance of four miles.] 

few dear to me is my tin pail, 

We've traveled long together, 
Through wind and rain and snow and liail, 

And dark and dreary weather. 

My pail with earthly bounties stored, 

My daily wants supply, 
Witli best the pantry can afford 

Or factory orders buy. 

Wnen by fatigue my strength doth fail. 
I to ni}^ pail resort, 

I'm sure to find in my tin pail 
Refreshments and support. 

Sweet pies and cakes of choicest kind, 

Within its bosom hid, 
And best of bread I always find, 

W^hen I take off the lid. 

Percliance an apple stowed away, 

Or cookies sweet and round. 
Or tarts or sweetuieats every day, 

In my tin pail are found. 



57 



And now and tlien a chicken's leg. 
Or choice piece of the breast, 

And every day a fresh-laid egg, 
Just taken from tlie nest. 

One favor of some friend I crave, 
Wlien life on earth shall fail. 

'Mongst friendship's other tokens, save 
My old tin dinner pail. 

Then may it hang both night and day, 

Upon some hook or nail. 
And let it not with rust decay. 

But spare tiiat old tin pail. 



THE BACHELOR'S NEW YEAR SOLILOQUY. 



f STAND to-night like one vipon some elevated plain, 
And from that height in thought revie"' life's 
traveled road again. 
I'm forty years and three to-night ! how time does steal 

away ! 
And yet the dreams of youth seem like some dream of 
yesterday. 

Here from this height I view some years like hills aglow 
with light ; 

These represent those happy years to me of swift- 
winged tiight. 

And then I see some years like bills, low hung with dark- 
est cloud ; 

Those years of sorrow, years that sorrow, covered as a 
shroud. 

The brightest views I get, a shadow here and there ap- 
pears, 

Just as in youth our brightest hours were dimmed by 
childhood's tears. 

I have no doubt that there are years well known to most 
all men. 

That they would not recall or wish to live them o'er 
again. 

But here I am, this dying hovir of eighteen eighty-one, 
Soon numbered with foi gotten years, those years long 
fled and sone. 



58 



Yes, here I am, not sad, though lone I am, m truth to- 
night. 

My room is neat and clean, and all around me cheery 
bright. 

My clock there ticks a drowsv tick upon the mantel 

shelf. 
Reminding me that life with me is passing away itself. 
No kindred spirit near me now, but single, free, alone, 
No echo to my voice except that echo, all one's own. 

My thoughts run smooth as polished slides through fine- 
ly polished grooves. 

Not worried the least by hate, nor maddened by jealous 
loves. 

But why am I alone to-night, so lonely here to-night, 

And why my hopes, those hopes once fond, all doomed 
to cruel blight ? 

The dearest thing in all this world I think, is a child to me. 
Yet likely I'll never know the bliss of chikh-en at my 

knee. 
With mingling of sadness I watch them and share in 

their play ; 
'Tis like a gleam of fair Spring-time on a chill Winter's 

day. 

I sometimes feel sad to be lone, but I'm glad to be free, 
For pleasure's an offset, the balance now favoring me. 
I go where I please, and return when I'm ready, the 

same. 
And no jealous housewife to curse me and blaspheme 

my name. 

Forbid that I ever should see my child in want of bread, 
Or ever the pride of my heart lie cold and pale and dead. 
But woman, dear woman, that riddle, that puzzle to me, 
When hearts are at stake and wit's in the scale I'll bet on 
a she. 

Yet one thing I've noticed while jogging along through 

life, 
The bigger the Devil the man, the more the angel, his 

wife 
For everything seeks for a balance, a rule since time be 

How often we find a termagant tied to the kindest man. 



59 



But why will a woman take and stick, stick for a vil- 
lain's part, 

When an honest man might sue in vain, in vain for her 
heart. 

Her heart goes out to the rake in the criminal box; 

She'll pity and throw herself away on a Chastine Cox. 

I've looked it all carefully over the best that I can, 
The conclusion is this, that woman's the savior of man. 
"When adversity frowns, and passed by his fellows un- 
blessed. 
He turns him in despond to woman and often finds rest. 

I promised in life's early day, when my race in life be- 
gan, 

That never would I mislead a woman, " God's best gift 
to man." 

And glad I'm that in all candor and conscience I can 
say, 

That I have kept my promise right up to the present day. 

To all good-night, good-night, for here my reveries must 

close, 
For Nature calls for a kind, a kind and a sweet repose. 
The bells have been ringing a sad farewell to the year 

just gone. 
A sad farewell to the dying year, to the year eighty-one. 
They'll ring again with a changeful tune, all cheerful 

and new, 
They'll ring out a welcome, a welcome to the year 

eighty-two. 

— Anonymous. 



SELF-CONVICTED. 



M^t)U horrid fellow ! how ever did you dare 
^^ To kiss me in that fashion, disarrange my hair? 
You take undue advantage, no one being present, 
And kiss me — oh, how rude ! (but awful pleasant). 

" I tolJ you once before it wasn't nice, 

And yet, not satisfied with that, y'ou kissed me twice. 

Now don't do so again, -for ma will hear you, 

And shf'll come in and find me near yon . 



60 

' ' Why don't I move away ? Quite easy that to answ er ; 
I'm not so timid — though a female — understand, sir ! 
You would not think me brave if I retreated, 
So here 1 shall remain, though but to be defeated. 

" My face is flushed I know — the air is stifling ! 
But why do you persist in this vain, silly trifling ? 
You must not kiss again ! I beg — implore ! 
And ma may hear — so I will close the door. 



DEPARTED HOPES. 



The following original lines were written by a young 
lady a short time before her death. The original copy 
was sent to her mother in t'^is city. 

%^ Y hopes have departed forever, 
tij^ My vision of true love is o'er ; 
My heart can awaken — oh ! never ; 

There's joy for my bosom no mor^'. 
The roses that crowned me are blighted, 

The garlands I cherished are dead, 

And the faith once confidingly plighted 

Is broken — my loved one has lied ! 

They saw that my life was decaying, 

Tliey knew that my stay would be brief, 
And still though my spirit was straying 

I told not a word of my grief ; 
No whisper revealed my deceiver. 

No ear heard me sigh or complain ; 
Yet my heart still adored its undoer 

And I longed so to meet him again. 

He came, but another had rifled 

His heart of the love once my own ; 
I grieved, but my anguish was stifled, 

After all my soul's idol is stone ! 
The sun is now sinking in billows 

Of clouds in the bleak wintry west, 
And morning will shine thro' the willows. 

And find me forever at rest. 

This is regarded as one of' the most remarkable cases 
of the kind on record, and teaches a moral lesson no 
young lady can afford to disregard. 



61 
GROWN APART 



^^^NE in name, yet two in heart, 

^^ Slowly, but surely, grown apart ; 
Saddest of all sad sights to see — 
Love from his own sweet bonds set free. 

Grown apart through the lagging years — 
Nor smiles, nor sighs, nOr melting tears, 
Shall call love's ro-e to the cheek again, 
Or thrill the heart with its precious pain. 

Grovving apart— for evermore — 
A canker-worm at the very core, 
Shorn of all the sweets of life ; 
An unloved husband, unloved wife. 

Ah well ! they have had their little day : 
Some flowers bloom only, and die in May ; 
And if these have missed the Summer's prime, 
And riper fruits of the Autumn time ; 

Knowing only the drought of one, 
And failing the other's blasts to shun : 
There jet may be garnered in each sad heart, 
Sheaves that have ripened and grown apkrt. 

— Charlotte Lennox. 



BLESSED DREAMS. 



^HE sunset smile has left the sky, 
la The moon rose calm and fair, 
As low a little maiden knelt 

To breathe her nightly prayer. 
And thus her brief petition rose. 

In simple words and few ; 
" Dear Lord, jilease send us blessed dreams, 
And let them all come true." 

Oh I I have stood in temples grand, 

Where in the rainbow gloom 
Rose pompous prayers from priestly lips 

Through clouds of sweet perfume. 
But never one lias seemed to me 

So guileless, pure and new — 



62 



" Dear Lord, please send us blessed dreams, 
And let them all come true." 

Ah ! little maiden, kneeling there 

Beneath the sunset skies, 
What need have we of other prayer 

Than yours, so sweet and wise ! 
Henceforth I breathe no studied plea. 

But bow and humbly pray wath you — 
"Dear Lord, please send us pleasant dreams, 

And let ihem all come true."' 




ilNDEX.^ 

Page 

Acrostic MC 

An Idvl 2''-23 

Blessed Are They That Mourn ^Z-iS 

Blessed Dreams 61-62 

Brief Sayings 27-34 

Departed Hopes qq 

Elegiac Poem 9_jO 

Farewell to the Tuna oq 

Pollen 37-40 

Grown Apart 61 

Hope 16-17 

I'll Ne'er Forget My Nannie, 23-24 

I'll No Regret My Nannie, O g 

In Perplexity 4-7 

My Little Wife 53-54 

Newsboy's Greeting, No. 1 17 

Newsboy's Greeting, No. 2 jg 

New Year's Eve 42 

Rather Pointed 24-25 

Satire on Woman 10-13 

Self-Convicted 59-60 

Sing That Song For Me Again 25-26 

Smiling Through Our Tears 18-19 

Some Things Sad to See 13 

Some Tender Loines 53 

Taking Toll 54-55 

Thanatopsis 40-41 

The Bacheloi-'s New Year's Soliloquy .57-59 

The Bonnie Belles O' Bradford, No 1 14 

The Bonnie Belles of Bradford, No. 2, 19 

The Bonnie Hills of Bradford 14-15 

The Dying Shoemaker 55-56 

The Evolution of Temperance 20-21 

The Knight of St. Cryspan 50-52 

The Old Tin Dinner Pail 56-57 

The Orphan's Plea 21-22 

The Pebble in the Ocean 15 

The Pilot Ship 7-8 

The Raven 45-")0 

The River Time 43-44 

To a Ladv Friend 52 

Who Sent Thee to Bloom 16 

You Put No Flowers on Papa's Grave 44-45 



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